


What About My Tip?

by writerchick0214



Series: How To Have Fun During The Zombie Apocalypse [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Pizza boy, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerchick0214/pseuds/writerchick0214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl wants Glenn to deliver him a pizza but there's no money for a tip in the ZA. Mr. Dixon has a different kind of tip for his pizza boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What About My Tip?

What About My Tip?

Glenn was extremely happy Daryl had set up their tent so far away from the main camp on the Greene farm; when he was about to turn in for the night he was met with a shirtless Daryl sitting in their tent holding his old, red hat and a…pizza box? The older man had a mischievous grin on his face, eyebrows raised and blue eyes dark with lust. He silently held out the items waiting for Glenn to take them, but Glenn let out a laugh instead. Daryl’s smile faltered and he dropped the hat, making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. 

“What’re you laughin’ at, kid?” He asked looking between Glenn and the pizza box.

“I’m sorry!” Glenn managed between giggles. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just-where the hell did you find a pizza box?” Glenn managed to calm down enough say when to realize Daryl was getting angry because he was embarrassed. 

“Found it in the woods the other day when I was huntin’.” Daryl said simply. He held the dirty, crushed box out again. “You said you’d deliver me a pizza.” 

Glenn grinned then, wide and full of teeth, and happily replaced the white hat atop his head for the red one. The Asian man fixed it so the hat lay perfectly straight, just like he had when he was actually delivering pizzas, and tucked his shirt in. It was a dirty baseball tee, nothing like the uniform shirt he used to wear, but it would do for this scenario. Daryl scoffed when he saw the tucked in shirt but didn’t say a word, instead leaning back onto his forearms to watch Glenn balance the pizza box in one hand while the brushed dirt off his jeans with the other. Glenn felt himself flush under the scrutiny but ignored it, instead standing up straight and waiting for further direction. 

“Outside, Korea.” Daryl pointed to the zipped up entrance to the tent. “We may not have doors but I want this as real as possible. You knock and I get my pizza. Got it?” 

“Sure. Do you want me to be anyone else?” Glenn asked shifting from foot to foot. 

“No. Just be Glenn, delivery boy. Now get.” 

Glenn nodded once and ducked out of the tent, zipping it up behind him. Once he was outside the cool night air nipped at his skin and he glanced around, happy to see that no one was even sparing a glance his way. He shifted nervously, tugging on the brim of the hat wishing he had a piece of gum; he always used to chew Orbit gum while he was on a run. Glenn stood there for a while trying to decide how to go about this. Before walkers he would knock on the door, straighten his shirt, greet the customer by name and swap the pizza for money. More often than not he got a tip that wasn’t worth the drive but he thanked the customer anyway then went on his way, usually to the next house. So that’s what Glenn did, knocking on the thin material of the tent and hoping Daryl heard it. Daryl’s head popped out of the tent looking bored and aggravated. 

“Mr. Dixon?” Glenn asked, looking down at the pizza then back up at Daryl.

“Yeah?” Daryl looked Glenn up and down slowly, licking his lips.

“I’ve got a large cheese and pepperoni pizza. That’ll be $12.50.” Glenn held out the box. Daryl took it and shoved some bills in his hand-where did Daryl find actual money?-and was about to go back into the tent. “What about my tip?” Glenn asked even though he never would have said that to a real customer. 

“Yer tip?” Daryl asked, opening the tent door all the way. “Fer what? Doin’ yer job?” 

“You’re supposed to tip us when we deliver a pizza.” Glenn coward back slightly when Daryl stood at his full height; in all actuality Daryl was only slightly taller but the power he exudes always makes him seem larger. Glenn was so distracted by Daryl’s naked, sweaty chest that he missed what Daryl said. Next thing he knew he was being dragged into the tent, the zip still wide open, and a mouthful of Dixon tongue. 

“This ok?” Daryl asked in a very un-Daryl-like manner. His eyes were closed and his hands were cupping Glenn’s face gently. 

“Mr. Dixon?” Glenn questioned still in character. Daryl groaned and pushed his hips forward to brush against Glenn’s. “Is what ok?” He licked his lips.

“I don’t have money for a tip. Can I tip you some other way?” Daryl un-tucked Glenn’s shirt and ran the pads of his fingers up Glenn’s side. 

“Shit.” Glenn breathed, capturing Daryl’s lips in a passionate kiss. “ Do whatever you want.” 

This seemed to be what Daryl was waiting for because as soon as the words left Glenn’s mouth Daryl shoved him to the ground, pulling his shirt over his head, knocking the hat off in the process. Glenn was going to ignore the hat but when Daryl put it back on his head he chuckled, raking his short nails down the older man’s back. Their lips met again, sloppy and wet but so, so hot. Daryl’s face kept knocking into the hat but he didn’t seem to mind, nosing his way down Glenn’s neck to his collarbone which he bit at before slipping a hand inside the waistband of Glenn’s jeans. When his rough, callused hand gripped Glenn’s delicate flesh the Asian man cried out happily, arching into the touch.

“So fucking hot.” Daryl breathed into his ear. “Yer gonna ride me with that hat still on, you hear me Chinaman?” 

“I’m Korean.” Glenn managed before they were kissing again, pants being shed and positions being switched so Glenn was now on top of Daryl. 

“Think I care, kid?” Daryl said voice raspy. Glenn shivered when Daryl’s hands found his hips to hold him steady. 

One of Daryl’s hands reached behind his head, groping for the lube that was centimeters from his fingers. When he finally found the tube he opened it with his teeth never looking away from Glenn’s face. One finger breached Glenn’s entrance and his eyes slipped closed at the sensation; it didn’t hurt, not yet, the finger feeling more welcoming than anything. A second was added shortly after, Daryl really rushing the prepping process, but Glenn couldn’t find himself to care. He would probably feel it the next morning but right now he was so turned on and so hard he couldn’t think of anything else. He hissed when a third finger was added, bending down to kiss Daryl, Daryl’s free hand ran soothingly up and down his back. When Glenn felt Daryl’s slicked up cock nudging at his entrance he sat up straight, putting Daryl’s hands back on his hips and taking over. 

“Is this my tip, Mr. Dixon?” Glenn asked as he lowered himself, filling himself up in the most familiar and amazing way. 

“Fuck.” Was all Daryl said as his body shook with the effort it took to hold still. 

Once Glenn was seated all the way down he remained motionless, willing his body to grow accustomed to the fullness. He wiggled back and forth slightly taking pride in the way Daryl clenched his eyes closed and gripped tighter at his hips. When Glenn thought Daryl couldn’t take another moment of stillness he began to move, up and down over and over again at a sickeningly slow pace. Daryl was spouting nonsense that couldn’t be understood, his hands moving all over Glenn’s body. Glenn put one of his hands on Daryl’s chest to balance himself, the other tracing Daryl’s lips. He moaned in pleasure when Daryl opened his eyes to look at him, sucking Glenn’s fingers into his mouth. Daryl reached up and pulled the red hat down further, almost totally over his eyes and pulled Glenn down for another kiss, the hat falling yet again from his head. Daryl ignored it this time.

“Shit, kid, I ain’t gonna last long.” Daryl moaned as Glenn slammed down harder this time. 

“Me either.” Glenn threw his head back, sitting up straight. “Mr. Dixon, touch me. Please.” He pleaded. He didn’t look down when Daryl began pumping him. It only took three pumps before he was spilling all over Daryl’s hand and chest, Daryl following only seconds later. He sat there, Daryl still inside him, body sagging, his hands on Daryl’s shoulders the only thing keeping him upright. The hat being put back on his head startled Glenn enough to jump. 

“That a good enough tip?” Daryl asked with a smile. 

“Dude. Best tip ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't edited or anything. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and all others involved. Obviously not me.


End file.
